


Exam Room Two

by rocknrollout



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocknrollout/pseuds/rocknrollout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a schizophrenic man comes into the clinic, the nurses give him to House, wanting to torture the older doctor for bugging them so much. What they don't know, is that the man has brought something with him, a weapon, and intends to use it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exam Room Two

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first House md story, so please be nice and don't tell me my writing is awful and that I shouldn't be a writer-I get that enough from myself. I'm a young writer, with no degree or serious writing classes to take; everything I've learned, I got from experience. So, this story takes a while to get to the actual plot and has a lot of road bumps along the way, but they're there to show House and Wilson's relationship, etc. Also, sorry about the crappy summary; I absolutely suck at those. Also, if anyone's personality seems off, I am extremely sorry; as I said before, this is my first House md fanfic so I'm kinda new to those characters. This is an AU universe of course and is kinda in the eighth season, after House goes to jail and gets back on Vicodin but Cuddy is still Dean of Medicine, House and Wilson are living in House's apartment after Wilson sold the loft, and House still has the season seven team (no Adams or Park, sorry). On another note, I hope you like the story and I can't wait to read some good reviews.

"Where the hell is my Vicodin!?"

A startled Wilson looked up from the stove when he heard House screaming from their bedroom, and rolled his eyes. He scrapped the last pancake off the pan and carried the two plates towards the small table he had convinced House to buy. After placing the two plates full of macadamia nut pancakes-House's absolute favorite- on the table, he walked out of the kitchen, through the living room and into the bedroom to find a tall man, still in sweatpants and a wrinkled Kiss T-shirt he had gotten at a concert when he was still in his twenties, rummaging around in a drawer, pulling out all the nice, ironed shirts as he went.

"House, first of all, stop it; you're making a mess," Wilson said, grabbing the clothes that House had left lying, wrinkled and forgotten, on the ground and started folding them, placing them on the bed carefully; damn his OCD. "Second, you ran out of Vicodin last night—don't you remember your excruciating pain that could only be fixed with late-night sex?"

"..."

House stopped rummaging as the look of 'I-am-an-idiot' washed over his stubbled face, quickly replaced by his normal, stoic look. Lightly slamming his fist against the open drawer, he looked over at Wilson, who was fighting the strong urge to laugh at House's expense. House just glared at the oncologist's smirk, slamming the drawer closed with even more force than he had intended, and grabbed his cane that he had hooked to the top of the dresser, limping out of the room. A few seconds later, Wilson heard the bathroom door slam shut and the sound of the shower turning his eyes, Wilson opened the drawer, pulled out everything that hadn't been already flung out onto the floor and walked over to the bed, the clothes in his arms. He sat down and began folding those clothes, placing them in piles varying from work shirts (aka anything without holes in it) to sleep-shirts. As he was placing the last of the shirts back, all nice and folded; albeit a little wrinkled, he heard the bathroom door open, followed by House limping into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. His left hand was keeping it on him while his right gripped his cane.

Wilson smiled and walked over to House, who was still standing near the doorway, looking incredibly grouchy. "Why don't you get dressed while I make sure our food isn't too cold; be quick or I'm eating yours," he said, lightly patting the older doctor's chest. Wilson leaned into House, capturing the diagnostician's chapped mouth in a delicate kiss, separating seconds later and slipping by House, leaving the bedroom.

Smiling like an idiot, Wilson walked back into the kitchen, grabbing both plates from the table and placed one in the microwave first for 30 seconds, then the other for the same amount. He sat down at the table, cutting a small piece off with his butter knife and placing it in his mouth. While he continued to eat, a less grumpy-looking House limped out of their bedroom in blue jeans, a blue shirt, and a black jacket. He was missing his sneakers, but he had socks on. He sat down across from Wilson and began eating, no care put in it as he stuffed his face full of the pancakes.

"Chew with your mouth closed," Wilson said, groaning in disgust when the older doctor opened his mouth wide, showing off his half-chewed food. "You're disgusting."

"And sexy," House said through a mouthful of pancakes, making it sound more like: 'ahd sexhy.'

"Not like this."

As House swallowed another large mouthful, the doorbell rang. Wilson waited a few seconds, seeing if House would get the door (maybe, just maybe, he'd be decent for once). When the diagnostician made no movement other than eating, Wilson sighed, standing up and pushing in his chair; he flicked House on the back of the head as he passed to leave the kitchen. He walked towards the front door, unlocking it and swinging it open.

A tall man, probably around his twenties, in a UPS uniform stood at their door, holding a clipboard and a small cardboard box with a delivery sticker on it. "Delivery for Dr. Gregory House."

"I can sign for that," Wilson said, taking the clipboard from the delivery man and quickly scrawling his name. The man handed him the package and took the clipboard and pen, walking away from the apartment, towards his truck. Wilson closed the door and walked down the small hallway, into the living room where House was putting on his sneakers. "House, you got a package," Wilson stated as he threw the cardboard box, no wider than his hand and no taller than his pointer finger, to House, who caught it.

House stood up, limping towards the bathroom without even opening the package or saying a word to Wilson. He slammed the door shut, probably not as forcefully as he had meant it to be, leaving Wilson to stand there, extremely confused. After a few minutes, House exited the bathroom and limped towards Wilson who had gone into the kitchen to clean up their breakfast.

"Ok, so I assume you're riding with me to work?" Wilson asked as he was drying the forks. Ever since they became a couple, the two doctors usually went to work together unless House wanted to ride his motorcycle; so much, that Wilson kept a handicapped hanging tag in his glove department.

"Oh, Wilson, you're being so clingy lately," House said, leaning against the kitchen's doorway, "I think I need some time to think about this." Rolling his eyes, Wilson placed the now clean silverware in the drawer and walked towards the diagnostician.

"Ready?" Wilson asked, passing House and grabbing his keys from the stone bowl holding the few keys they actually had in the apartment and a small, blue bouncy ball House had found in the clinic on one of the few occasions he was actually there. Wilson opened the door and held it open for House, who he knew might take a little while due to a large amount of ice and snow covering their steps.

House sighed in fake exasperation, grabbing his coat and limping out the door; he had temporarily forgotten about the ice and when his cane hit the second step, it flew out from under him, making him lose his grip on the cane and send it tumbling down the few steps they had. He would have fallen on his ass if it weren't for Wilson right behind him, supporting him as they made their way down the steps at a slow, careful pace. House leaned down and snatched his cane from the pile of snow it had fallen in, drying it off with the flap of WIlson's coat. The younger doctor glared but didn't protest.

Wilson was in the car first, trying to keep from watching House struggle with getting his bad leg into the vehicle. House held his cane in-between his legs, his left hand inside his pocket the whole time, fiddling with something; Wilson just assumed it was House's Vicodin, completely forgetting the fact that House was out.

When they arrived at the hospital, they had barely made it through the doors before House was approached by none other than Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine. "House, I want you in the Clinic, right now! You've missed all of last week's hours and I want you to make them up, no excuses!" Oh, damn, she sounded pissed.

"I'll see you later," WIlson said, patting House on the shoulder encouragingly and speed-walking towards the elevator before Cuddy could make him do more Clinic Duty for just being near House. No matter how much he loved the older doctor, he had other duties to perform other than Clinic Duty.

House glared at the back of WIlson's head as his friend/lover raced into the elevator, leaving him alone with Satan in heels. "So, how's your morning been?" House asked in a mock-sweet tone. Cuddy just glared at him. She pointed to the Clinic, tapping her foot in an impatient rhythm-she was out of rhythm, too which made it even more annoying. In too much pain from Vicodin withdrawal, House passed her without a fight, limping towards the double doors that led to Cuddy's domain, Hell.

Cuddy smiled at how easy that was; Wilson was starting to rub off on the diagnostician.

House walked up to the nurses desk, took a quick second to check his watch and then signed himself in, grabbing the red file the attending nurse handed him from behind the desk and limped towards Exam Room Two, not even noticing the huge, suspicious grin the nurses at the desk all shared. A young man with sandy-blonde hair was sitting on the exam table, a small backpack by his feet, watching House with a look that immediately told the doctor that the obnoxious nurses had given him an f-ing schizophrenic!

"So, what horrible illness brings you here to this fine slice of hell," House questions, sitting down on the metal swivel-bench, facing the man with a large frown plastered on his stubbled face; treating people like this sucked.

"I-I need a prescription for In-Invega Sus-Su-Sustenna," the man said, twitching and moving around on the bench a lot.

"Invega Sustenna?" House asked, already grabbing for his prescription pad from his coat pocket, bumping a little, black box he intended to show WIlson later. He quickly scrawled his name and the prescription, not even looking at the man when he handed it to him; he hated early-morning Clinic Duty even more than normal hour's. "Anything else?"

"You're a criminal, aren't you?" the man asked; that got House's attention. He knew schizophrenics were usually good at reading people, but how could he know that House had a criminal record that quickly? With only House's appearance and personality to go by? House tried his hardest not to show his curiosity at how the man figured it out so fast; maybe he just had a lucky guess. The man just stared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Yep, rammed my car into an Ex's living room," House answered matter-of-factly, standing up to leave. He started to limp towards the door when the man grabbed his arm. "Hey, let go." House tried to pull his arm away but the younger man held a tight-ass grip, probably leaving a decent bruise.

"You're a bad man and bad men shouldn't be able to walk free," the schizophrenic said.

"As you can tell, I can't really walk free," House said, lifting his cane into the man's field of vision; the schizophrenic grabbed the cane and threw it across the room, far out of House's reach. The man walked towards his discard backpack leaning against the exam table, dragging House with him. He reached into it and grabbed an object, black as night. When House figured out what was in the man's hand, he started to struggle more, about to call out for help until the gun was pointed at his chest, right over his heart.

xXxXx

Cuddy was in her office when she heard the bang that rang around the whole Clinic; it was followed by patients' screams of terror and footsteps running out of the Clinic all at once. She leapt from her desk, ran out of her office and watched as people darted out of the clinic in an un-orderly fashion. Some were more calm than others, but most were screaming their heads off. She saw people run out of exam rooms, a few struggling to pull up their pants. She saw patients and doctors exit every single room. Except one; Exam Room Two. She was frozen in place as a man, his chest covered in dark red blood, a gun clutched in his hand, ran out of the room; he was flailing around as he pointed the gun at the few people still there.

He raced out of the Clinic double-doors, stumbling the whole way, and he almost made it to the front, double doors of the building until he was tackled by a security guard, followed by three others. The gun was flung out of his hand, set skidding across the floor and he was handcuffed. Time started again as Cuddy and a few other nurse ran into Exam Room Two; she gasped at what she saw.

Gregory House was lying on the cold floor, blood pouring from his chest, a small bullet hole right above his left lung.

"Stay with me, House, you're gonna be okay," she kept repeating, as nurses cried out for a gurney. Cuddy kept her hand pressed against the wound, trying to keep as much blood as possible inside House, who was wheezing from the loss of one of his lungs. When the gurney finally arrived, they carefully lifted House onto it, strapping him down and rolling out of the Clinic as fast as they could, towards the OR; House was going to need emergency surgery. "House, do you want me to get Wilson?" Cuddy asked as they pushed the gurney.

He nodded, so slightly Cuddy almost missed it. She brushed his hair off his forehead, feeling the large amount of sweat that was building up, making his hair sticky and wet. He took in a shaky, painful breath and then passed out from the pain.

When he woke up, he was lying in the prep room, his shirt off with thick bandages covering his chest. He grimaced when he felt the thick, plastic tube stuck in his his throat; he was intubated. He loathed being intubated--it was probably the most uncomfortable feeling that there could be. Well, besides going in dry. He turned his head slightly and saw Wilson standing next to him, his forehead furrowed in worry, brushing his fingers through House's salt and pepper hair.

"They're going to get you in soon," Wilson said, his free hand gripping the older man's-House tried to squeeze him back, give his boyfriend some comfort, but he was so weak. His body was throbbing; his chest felt like it was being ripped open with the jaws of life-he didn't even notice the pain in his bum leg, this was so awful. It was horrible, challenging the infarction for 'worse pain in his life.'

"Wilson, we've got an OR ready." Wilson turned around when he heard Cuddy's voice from the other side of the room; she was just standing there, watching them without getting too close. A few nurses brushed by her as they went to grab House and prep him for the surgery.

Wilson leaned closer to House so that he was right next to the older man's ear. "You better live, you selfish bastard," he murmured just barely above a whisper, lightly kissing House before letting the nurses take House off to the OR. "I'll be watching the whole time."

xXxXx

Wilson was in the ICU, watching House's chest move up and down, slowly, with the help of an intubation tube. House looked so fragile, so vulnerable, and Wilson hated it; he didn't necessarily love all of House's barriers but he loathed seeing his lover/best friend in such a vulnerable state.

"Hey, can we come in?" Wilson looked up and saw House's team watching him from the doorway, except for Forman who wouldn't be caught dead actually caring about his boss-that bastard.

Fighting tears from forming his chocolate brown eyes, Wilson nodded-he didn't trust his voice not to crack. They all stood at the foot of House's bed, Chase quickly grabbing House's chart and looking it over so he didn't have to look at his boss-he still couldn't believe House had been shot twice in his lifetime; three times if you count the amount of bullets that entered his body. Thirteen was just starring at House, half-expecting him to just jump up and laugh at all of them for being worried about him, tell them that it was just a huge prank. Taub looked like he didn't want to be there at all; he just kept starring at the monitor, keeping his eyes away from House completely.

No one spoke. Not a single syllable. Until a nurse walked in, tapping Wilson on the shoulder who had his head resting on House's hand. He looked up, faking a smile when the nurse placed House's original clothes; minus his bloody shirt for obvious reasons, into Wilson's arms.

"Thank you," Wilson said, faking a smile.

"Also, we found this on the floor of the Clinic." She reached into her scrubs pants pocket (that happened to be 101 Dalmatians) and handed Wilson a small, black box. "Assumed it belonged to Doctor House; congratulations."

And with that, she walked out, immediately ambushed by a bunch of other nurses, who dragged her off to talk about the latest hospital gossip. Wilson, still starring at the box, held it in his hand, wondering what the hell was inside the little, black box until Thirteen snatched it away from him and opened it, shocked at what she found inside. Two wedding rings, looking exactly the same, sat inside, both shinning under the lights of the ICU; they were golden with strips of silver wrapped around them. Chase and Taub both shared twin looks of pure shock and mild horror when they looked over Thirteen's shoulder to get a quick peak; why the hell was this in House's pocket?!

Thirteen, smiling, looked at Wilson and closed the box, tossing it towards him.

"Never thought it'd actually happen," she murmured as Wilson caught the box and opened it, already pretty much knowing what was encased inside the box. He was still shocked when he realized House was the one who thought it was time to take the next step, thought that they were ready after the year of dating and twenty years of friendship.

Wilson picked on of them up and studied it; the inside read "leave a tender moment alone" in small lettering so it would fit. Wilson smiled and looked over at House, who was still as a statue, his eyelids closed as his body recovered from the extremely traumatic experience. Kissing House's forehead, Wilson put on his ring.

"Yes," he murmured in House's ear.

xXxXx

Three full days went by before House awoke, the intubation tube had been removed yesterday and now they were waiting for the doctor to wake up. All of his senses came towards him slowly and in turn as he slowly got out of the Morphine's powerful grip. First, hearing Cuddy and Wilson talking about some cancer kiddie, then tasting the bitterness of his dry mouth from the incubation tube being taken out only a short time ago, the feeling of a the soft blanket over his body; lastly, the sight of Wilson and Cuddy with Wilson's back facing him and Cuddy pretty much facing him; though she was so wrapped in her conversation, she didn't notice House.

House took that moment to familiarize himself with Wilson's backside; his legs, that amazing ass that House loved to squeeze, his hands-the left was wearing the wedding ring House had gotten…WHAT?! How the hell is Wilson's wearing the ring!? House looked down at his lelf hand, just to check, and saw that he too, was wearing a ring-the one matching Wilson's, to be precise.

"House, you're awake!" Cuddy noticed.

Wilson turned his head around and smiled, rushing towards House's bedside and quickly grabbing his penlight from his pocket. He flashed it in House's eyes, checking for responsiveness, which seemed to be just fine. His pupils were dilated but that was just because of the morphine he was hooked up to so Wilson wasn't worried. Since there was no brain injury, Wilson didn't bother with memory tests.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Wilson murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of House's face and kissing him, the stubble on House's face tickling him.

"I'll leave you too alone," Cuddy murmured, walking out of the ICU; she did have a hospital to run.

"How-" House began, his voice rough, barely above a whisper; it hurt to talk.

"Here." Wilson grabbed the pitcher of water, pouring some into a glass and handing to House, who gladly drank, just to get rid of the annoying dryness.

"How long have I been out?" House asked, his voice still a little hoarse but a lot better than when he awoke.

"About three days," Wilson answered, sitting down in the only chair next to House's bed. "Give me a pain scale."

"I'm fine," House answered, his mind too focussed on his new discovery to think about pain. He cut to the chase: "Where'd you find the rings?"

"Nurse found them on the Clinic floor."

"Well, they're not mine."

"Don't lie; you got a box delivered today and they say 'leave a tender moment alone.' Wonder where I've heard that from?" Wilson questioned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey, a Clinic patient could have dropped it! That could be their song," House defended, his heart rate raising slightly. "Or did you plant the rings as a way of proposing; because, let me tell ya, not a very good idea after your boyfriend's been shot."

"Why are you being so defensive?" Wilson asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair, glaring at House with a look of 'shut up, you idiot.'

"I'm not defensive, just stating facts!"

"Stop yelling, Greg, and calm down." Wilson pushed his hand against House's shoulder to try and get the older doctor to lie down, watching his heart rate from his peripheral vision.

The room fell into deep silence for a while, House trying to control his breathing and Wilson keeping his eyes on House's chart, even though he had already memorized everything on it. Neither man spoke for at least a half hour until House turned his head to look at his partner. "Wilson?"

"Yeah?" Wilson said, looking up from the chart that he wasn't even reading anymore, just looking at.

"WIll you marry me?"


End file.
